


back to the places you will be from

by reechie



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Alternate Universe - Office, Eddie becomes a regular, M/M, Richie owns a coffee shop, Various OCs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26654311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reechie/pseuds/reechie
Summary: "Hey, welcome in!" shouts someone from the general direction of the register, but Eddie can't respond, too wrapped up in trying to take in everything around him.The face attached to the voice is twisted in a smirk, smudged with flour below tortoiseshell glasses. The guy – name tag reading 'Richie!' with a doodle of the same glasses next to it – has his hair tugged into a small bun at the back of his head, shorter pieces falling curled around his face.Eddie browses the handwritten menu hanging above them as his coworker and Richie chat about god knows what, and if it's so he doesn't stare at Richie in his loudly patterned button down shirt, nobody is any the wiser.[Or: Eddie has to take new hires from his company to coffee – Richie's coffee shop becomes a frequent visit]
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 29
Kudos: 250





	back to the places you will be from

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beverlymarshian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beverlymarshian/gifts).



> to lynne, one of my favorite humans on this entire planet, on this, the day of her birth! happy birthday, my love! 
> 
> this is based on [a thread she wrote on twitter](https://twitter.com/beverlymarshian/status/1285614653477978121), and I hope I did it justice bc it has lived rent free in my head since she wrote it. 
> 
> thank u to all of my pals who let me borrow their likeness for background characters, to everyone who sprinted with me, to elle for looking this over, and to christina for providing the soundtrack to which this was written and for which it was named.
> 
> title from closing time by semisonic.

Eddie likes his job. 

He does. He's good at it and he _knows_ he's good at it, and there's really no better feeling than liking to do something that you know you're good at. 

Some people aren't afforded that little life pleasure. Sometimes, the venn diagram of 'things you like to do' and 'things you're good at' and 'things you want to do' is really just three circles spaced out from each other, but Eddie is lucky that they're all interconnected, a rounded triangle in the middle that leaves him comfortable in his career choices.

However, no amount of love for his job will make it any easier to talk to newly hired twenty-somethings who are gunning for their big opportunities. 

Unfortunately, his boss trusts him not only with big accounts, but also with said twenty-somethings, which means he suddenly has to be the person to talk up a job they already like working.

Flawed logic, but he'll be damned if it didn't make him a little more excited as one of the younger associates that was once taken for lunch by a superior. 

Anyway, that's not the real issue. Not that there actually is a real issue, none of this is an issue by any means, but it's just –

Look, Eddie's not getting voted "Most Likely To Befriend Everyone" at the company picnic, alright? He’s friendly enough, not outwardly rude by any means, but usually he just keeps his nose down, does what's best for his accounts and his clients, is civil to who he needs to be and gets his shit done. 

All that aside, he's lucky to share the corner office with Stan, who not only accepts Eddie's position as that nose-down worker, but seems to operate in the same way. They've got a door they can close to keep out all the newer associates that are a little frightened of Eddie – it's not his fault he's a little snippy while in the middle of things, okay? – but that door unfortunately closes Stan in with Eddie and his sighs as he tries to find somewhere to take the newest associate.

"Either you're micro-editing the Hockstetter account again," Stan starts, getting Eddie's attention, "trying to fly a hot air balloon with the power of your own lungs, or something's bothering you." 

When he looks across their office at Stan, he's still laser-focused on whatever's on his screen, but there's a small smirk on his face like he knows it's the latter rather than either of the formers. 

Eddie sighs again, but it turns to a bit of a groan as he scrubs a hand over his face before leaning back in his chair. His computer screen times out, the clock he has set as a screensaver taunting him as it hides the fourth browser window he's opened today with at least six Yelp tabs open. 

"Maturin has me taking the new kid to lunch today," Eddie says after a while. He jostles his mouse, bringing his screen back to life, unimpressed to find that the computer has locked again. "I have no idea where to take them. I've looked at so many Yelp reviews that I want to throw my computer out of a fucking window.”

Stan hums, clicking away at his own screen. 

"We have several, go ahead." 

"Why can't you do it?" Eddie asks, quickly typing his password into his computer and closing the Yelp screen. Again. 

"Because it's your computer," Stan says, without hesitation. "I hardly see how you would get any satisfaction from me throwing it out the window for you."

That one's good enough to get a laugh from Eddie, even with the lingering spark of anxiety in the center of his chest. 

It's not that Eddie doesn't want to be welcoming to the new kid – Parker, the calendar slot says – who's probably in his early 20s and would hate being called a kid. It's just that someone like Eddie wouldn't have been the first choice of employee to send on this venture if he were in charge. 

"Because it'll be my turn next month," Stan answers properly, pushing his glasses up and into his hair as he types a few things, clicks around a bit. "There. Check your email."

Eddie quirks an eyebrow, sitting up and looking over at Stan, skeptical. Stan's already out of his chair by the time Eddie gets the email open, mug in hand as he heads to the coffee station in the main office. 

A few clicks later, Eddie's looking at a meticulously mapped spreadsheet, tabs at the bottom categorizing restaurants by coffee shops, lunch restaurants, and dinner spots. It's open to the 'coffee shops' tab, displaying a list of fifteen places no more than a few miles away from their office if the 'proximity' column is anything to go by.

"Holy shit," Eddie says, mostly under his breath, but of course it's the moment Stan walks back in, latte in hand. 

He laughs easily before raising the mug to his lips, standing behind Eddie. With anyone else, it would bother him. Stan doesn't bother him, though.

"Should I give you a minute?" he jokes. "Some alone time with the spreadsheet?"

"Fuck off," Eddie says, quick as a whip. "Stan, this is so fuckin' cool."

Stan shrugs, setting his mug down. "I got sick of going to Whole Foods for lunch, so I would walk a different direction every day until I found something." 

Eddie hums, considering the list that Stan insists isn't in order of favorites. 

"They've all got something good about them," he says, pointing to the columns on Eddie's screen. "Like Sip of Hope is a community mission that donates a good portion of their profits to mental health initiatives, but Elevate has really great cold brew."

Eddie hums again, looking over and toying with the sorting of the columns – price, low to high; proximity; which locations offer vegan, vegetarian, or gluten free options. He's shocked to find that one shop in particular stays near the top when he sorts by those three categories.

"What about 'Bread & Butter'?" Eddie asks, scrolling over to the notes at the very end. There's only one word written in the box – _homey._

"Oh, that's a personal favorite," Stan says, heading back to his own desk. "What's today, though, Monday?"

Eddie glances at the corner of his screen before making an affirmative sound.

"They're closed today," Stan admits. "They're on the short list, though."

They both fall back into their work, then, or Eddie at least tries to, but not before he sends a copy of Stan's spreadsheet to their personal office printer, marking the shops that pique his interest.

By the time Maturin comes to knock on Stan and Eddie's door, Parker in tow, Eddie has asterisked a good few of the shops, underlining Bread & Butter for later.

/

By the end of the week, Eddie's already made his way through a few of the coffee shops, finding it easier to talk with the new associates over a twenty minute coffee break than an hour long lunch. As much as he likes seeing them squirm before they've spoken to, Eddie's found it nice to connect with them beyond shared gripes about accounts or the latest water cooler gossip. 

Friday brings yet another associate to his calendar courtesy of Maturin – Kalvin, a newly hired junior account manager – and he didn't even realize where he was on the list until the next shop without a note was Bread & Butter.

The other shops have been nice, if not a little bland. He went to Elevate twice – once with Parker on Monday and again with Madeleine on Wednesday – and he took Autumn to Mean Bean on Tuesday. 

He's actually thinking about Elevate's cold brew as he and Kalvin make the fifteen minute walk from the office to Bread & Butter, passing a few shops on the way. It's not too much of a hassle, especially considering he's given nearly an hour for these outings anyway, but there were moments a few blocks back where he had a few regrets. Namely, his choice of footwear for the day, but also the fact that Elevate is significantly closer. 

He won't be the first to admit it, but the easy business and warmth of the atmosphere around them as they walk into Bread & Butter wipes any regret he was feeling clean away. 

"Hey, welcome in!" shouts someone from the general direction of the register, but Eddie can't respond, too wrapped up in trying to take in everything around him. 

He vaguely registers Kalvin responding as he looks around, first to the record player spinning what sounds like a Kings of Leon album, then at the assortment of mismatched furniture, occupied by a variety of people with slogan-bearing or oddly shaped mugs. There's art over the exposed brick walls, ornate frames and splattered canvases among portraits and stunning photography. 

Eddie, in his blazer and button down, suddenly feels way over dressed. 

"Oh," Kalvin says, snapping Eddie out of it. "I love this place." 

"Oh?" 

"Yeah," he confirms, waving to the girl at the counter as they get closer. "Spent way too much time here when I worked at a garage down the block for some extra cash before I was hired by the company." 

Eddie blinks. "Really? That's so cool, man. What kinds of–"

"Kalvin! What's up, dude?" a voice interrupts from behind the counter, getting both of them to turn. "Finally join the corporate hellscape?" 

The face attached to the voice is twisted in a smirk, smudged with flour below tortoiseshell glasses. The guy – name tag reading 'Richie!' with a doodle of the same glasses next to it – has his hair tugged into a small bun at the back of his head, shorter pieces falling curled around his face. 

Eddie browses the handwritten menu hanging above them as Kalvin and Richie chat about god knows what, and if it's so he doesn't stare at Richie in his loudly patterned button down shirt, nobody is any the wiser. 

He decides on an americano, finally looking away from the menu only to be met with Richie grinning with his head resting in one hand, propped by the elbow on the espresso machine. 

"What about you, dollface?" Richie says. "Find something you'd like?" 

Despite himself, he can feel heat pricking the tips of his ears at the endearment. How does he get away with talking to customers like this? 

He clears his throat. "Just an americano for me, thanks."

"You got it," Richie says with a wink, turning to pluck a mug off the rack behind him. 

The woman at the register – Scarlett, her name tag reads, a sticker of the cowboy emoji beside it – rings them up and they move to the end of the bar, chatting idly as Richie pulls shots of espresso. 

Kalvin's drink comes out first, so he goes to find a table as Eddie waits for his own mug to emerge from behind the bar.

Richie's quick with what he's doing, Eddie notes, watching him clear out part of the machine to prep another set of shots. As soon as he slots the piece back into the machine and presses a button, a timer sounds that makes Richie's head whip up, swearing under his breath as he abandons the machine for an oven tucked away in the back. 

Whatever he has to do only takes a second before he's rushing back to the espresso machine, pushing another button and grabbing the freshly pulled shots, pouring them over hot water where it steams from a mustard yellow mug reading 'I ❤️ Spreadsheets'. 

"Americano for the new guy," Richie says, sliding the mug across the counter. 

Eddie huffs a laugh, rolling his eyes as he takes his drink. "You say that as if I'll come back." 

Richie smiles, broad and all teeth, like a retort is on the tip of his tongue. He even gets as far as leaning forward on the counter before he's interrupted by another timer going off. 

"Hold that thought," he says, grabbing his phone out of his pocket to stop the trilling. 

"As much as I'd love to, I have to hold a meeting instead," Eddie says. "Thanks for the coffee."

"Thanks for coming in, uh," Richie says, trailing off and waiting for Eddie to fill in the gap.

"Eddie," he supplies, wrapping his hands around his mug.

Richie smiles, smaller than the last one. Softer. 

"See you around, Eds," he says, patting the countertop before giving a salute and disappearing to the back.

The correction dies on the tip of his tongue as he shakes himself out of it and goes to actually hold his meeting, taking a sip of his americano on the way to the table Kalvin's found them. 

He doesn't realize until they're on their way back to the office that this is the first time he's used up every minute scheduled out for these meetings. Conversation had flowed easily, especially after he and Kalvin got to talking about his gig at the garage. The free pastry dropped off by the barista – "Compliments of the loser in the coconut shirt," she had said – definitely helped, too. 

Once he's back at his desk, Eddie eats his own words and draws a box around Bread & Butter on his spreadsheet, scribbling two asterisks in the notes section.

He's definitely going to be back. 

/

Richie's laughter is the first thing he hears when he walks into Bread & Butter with his newest coworker a week later.

This isn't the first time that's happened. Almost every time he's walked in since his first visit a week ago, it's either laughter or a bright hello from the day's barista that greets him as the bell above the door chimes.

This time it's both.

It's Kat at the register today, sharpie tucked into the pocket of her button down – today's is navy blue with bananas on it, one she's told Eddie that she got as a birthday gift from Richie himself. 

"Morning, Eddie," she says, already reaching for a mug. "Americano?" 

"If you don't mind," he says, already reaching for his wallet. 

Kat taps at the screen, laughing a little. "And if I do mind?" 

"Then say 'fuck it' about my order and only make whatever Ash wants instead," he says, handing over the company card as Ash orders their drink. 

"We're fucking orders now?" says Richie, emerging from the back, clad in a powdered sugar-dusted apron, a tea towel slung over one shoulder. "Don't tell the health department." 

"No, we're only fucking Eddie's order," Kat says, scribbling their order on a piece of scrap paper and handing it to Richie before swiping the card. 

"Naturally," Richie says, crossing his arms across his chest. "Still insisting on americanos, huh?"

"Depends," says Eddie. "Still insisting on giving me a drink I didn't order?" 

He's pointedly not looking at the definition of Richie's arms. 

"One day I'll get you to order a latte," Richie says, already readying the machine to pull shots that he’s sure will end up in something sweet and frothy and a polar opposite of his order.

"I'll never have to if you keep giving them to me anyway," Eddie says, admitting defeat. 

Richie smiles. “My plan is working then. Go ahead and sit, I’ll bring these out to you when they’re done.”

He’s already turned around, heading toward the sound of another timer before Eddie can protest or say that he’s perfectly capable of carrying two cups of coffee to the couch on the other side of the cafe, so Eddie just shakes his head and goes to join Ash and return to their conversation from the walk over. 

“So you’re a regular here, then, huh?” Ash says, on a lull in conversation. 

Eddie sips at his water bottle, hums. “I guess? I stopped in last week and –”

“And we haven’t been able to shake him since,” Richie interrupts, coming over with two steaming mugs, plates balanced on the top of them. “Pretty cute, though, so we’ll keep him around.” 

Eddie’s eyebrows knit together, grabbing for a plate, careful to not jostle the flaky pastry on it. “What are these?” 

“Oh, just something I’m testing out,” Richie says, shrugging as he tucks his hands in his pockets. “You two seemed like good test subjects.”

“What is it?” Eddie says, picking it up carefully, sugar falling to the plate. It smells sweet, but not too sweet, and it’s still a little warm.

“The recipe called it a sunshine bun but I’m workshopping that,” Richie says. “It’s basically a croissant but rolled differently. Plus some orange zest and sugar.” 

Eddie takes a small bite, humming as the sweet melds with savory across his tongue. 

“Holy fuck,” he says, despite himself. “Dude, this is really good.” 

Above him, Richie beams. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie confirms, followed by an affirmative sound from Ash as they take a bite of their own pastry. “They should definitely let you put this on the menu.” 

Richie laughs, then, just a little. “I’m already planning the stern talking-to I’m going to give myself in the mirror.”

Eddie quirks an eyebrow. “You–”

“Own the place?” Richie says, shrugging again. “Yeah, just a little.” 

“How do you own ‘just a little’ of a coffee shop?” Eddie asks, a little incredulous. “Shut up, dude. Stop being so humble.” 

“Humble’s my middle name, actually,” says Richie, and suddenly Eddie’s meeting is filled with more easy bickering than anything else. 

It’s not a bad way to spend a Friday afternoon.

/

Eddie would like to say that it doesn’t become ‘a thing’, going to Bread & Butter, but not even his incredible denial ability can dispute his expense reports for company lunches being mostly from that shop. 

Not to mention his own credit card statements. 

It’s fine. 

He’s started taking his personal lunches there, more often than not, finding his days a little less stressful and taxing after an hour tucked among the regulars.

It reminds him a bit of a cafe he frequented in college, everyone with their preferred spots, typing away at computers or paging through books. 

There are only a couple other people here today – a woman who has single handedly gotten Eddie to look up the band Arkells by how frequently she puts it on the record player, and her friend with bright green hair and clear framed glasses who has a laptop papered in frog stickers – so Eddie’s usual spot is open for him to leave his jacket as he goes up to order. 

It’s not Arkells on the record player today, but some kind of rock, mellow enough where the energy is up but the air still feels calm. At the record player, Richie’s placing the jacket of the record on the stand boasting ‘now playing!’ – High Violet by The National, Eddie reads.

“What, no Dexys Midnight Runners today?” Eddie says, walking by on his way to the register. 

Richie’s head snaps up, face lighting up as he sees Eddie. 

“Is that a request?” he calls as Eddie walks further away. He’s behind the counter faster than Eddie can even anticipate, leaning on the machine before Eddie can even get his wallet out. “I can play anything your little heart desires, Spaghetti.” 

Eddie groans. “That’s still the worst one you’ve come up with.”

Richie laughs, warm and bright, eyes crinkling at the corners and not for the first time in these last few weeks, Eddie wishes he could bottle sounds. 

It’s the same song and dance from them then – Eddie orders an americano, Richie suggests something new. Eddie insists on the americano, Richie makes him his newest experimental latte anyway and delivers it with a pastry regardless of if he ordered lunch or not. 

Sometimes he’ll join Eddie at the table he’s claimed as his own, sitting down for a few minutes here and there before another timer goes off, or another customer walks in and he’s whisked away making lattes and pastries and small talk like it’s the easiest thing in the world to do all three at once.

Those moments, where Richie has a second to just sit, are some of Eddie’s favorites. He learns about the shop and how his mother taught him to bake, about how he always dances in the kitchen while he’s putting ingredients together because it assures him that everything is made with a little bit of love. 

He learns what it looks like, from the outside, to see someone love what they do with every fibre of their being. 

It’s a heartbeat-skipping wonder when Eddie finds himself thinking about what it would be like to be on the receiving end of that kind of energy.

With an americano in a to-go cup handed to him on his way out, Eddie wonders.

He takes a sip as he walks through the door of his office and wishes it was sweeter.

/

The shift from November to December brings Eddie to the end of his month of associate introductions, but he keeps up with it here and there, when he has the time. As much as he was dreading it at Maturin’s first suggestion, it was nice to get away, to break free of the dull office atmosphere and get to know the members of his team.

The members of his team that tend to talk amongst each other, apparently. 

“So, Bread & Butter has kind of become your ‘spot’ huh?” Stan says when he gets back from his own associate lunch. He’s got one of their signature bright yellow take-away cups precariously clamped between his teeth as he removes his winter jacket, hanging it on their coat rack before grabbing it and setting it down, sitting at his desk.

Eddie hums, but doesn’t look up from his computer, right in the middle of a data set that he knows he’ll lose his place in if breaks focus for even a second. 

“I guess,” he says. “Why?” 

“I wasn’t planning on going there today with Lou,” he says, unlocking his computer, “but apparently she had been talking to your cohort and that’s, like, the Kaspbrak hotspot.”

Eddie clicks around, saves, and breaks eye contact with his screen. 

“Oh,” he says, more of a rush of breath than anything. He can feel his face grow a little warm. “Yeah, I guess. It’s just a good spot.”

“They seem to like you, from what I’ve heard,” Stan says. “I heard Kalvin and Parker talking about you giving them a hand on the Ripsom account, it was like you saved their kitten from a house fire or something.” 

Eddie stops, thinking back to the account in question, seeing the two of them at a loss for the next steps in their cohort Slack channel. He didn’t need to do much else but offer an outside opinion, but it was something they had asked for without hesitation or even a shred of trepidation.

He doesn’t remember the last time that happened. It felt nice. 

“It wasn’t that big of a deal,” he says, finally, returning to his screen even with nothing of import to do.

Stan quirks an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth upturned but doesn’t say anything. 

The rest of the day goes by fairly quick, a light workload thanks to the company holiday party that evening, and before Eddie could even think about what time it was, he was punching out and heading home to get changed.

He’s still one of the first people there when he walks into the event space fifteen minutes after the official start time, grabbing himself a tea from the refreshment cart before draping his jacket over one of the chairs at the set tables. 

The space itself is cozy, darned in rich maroons and twinkling golds, the chatter filling the air adding to the atmosphere. There’s a comfort in it that Eddie’s not sure he’s felt since he started here out of college. He hopes it stays this way. 

His cohort finds him when he heads near the table of sweets, pulling him into some conversation that he’s only half-listening to but loving the energy of regardless. There’s a lull in the chatter for a minute when Eddie hears it, familiar laughter that makes him feel like he’s moving in slow motion.

When he finally manages to turn his head, he’s not sure what he’s expecting, but it certainly isn’t Richie in a cable knit sweater, light-up antlers on his head and his arm around Stan’s shoulders. 

He’s pretty sure he knows why it makes his heart drop to his stomach, but admitting it is a whole different animal. 

The embarrassment settles in his gut, whatever hope he had – if there even _was_ any – sinking No wonder the shop was on Stan’s list. Eddie would want to talk his partner’s business up to anyone who would listen. 

Not that he’s been thinking about Richie as his partner. Or even if he had, that’s obviously not going to happen. Embarrassment rises in his chest at he and Stan’s conversation earlier, immediately reading into the commentary on Eddie’s frequent visits to Bread & Butter. Stan’s great, Eddie tells himself, and it’s the truth. Richie deserves someone great, even if it’s not –

“Eddie!” Richie calls, just loud enough to be heard but not too loud where all the attention is turned to him. Eddie still wants to sink into the ground. 

Instead, he smiles and tries to make it feel natural as Stan and Richie come over by him. 

Stan’s got an unreadable smile on his face, but Richie looks like he knew exactly what he was getting himself into. Eddie wishes he had that feeling right now.

“Gotta be honest,” Eddie finally manages. “You’re the _last_ person I expected to walk in here.” 

“Honestly, same,” Stan starts, “but seeing as my wife is out of town and _this_ one wouldn’t shut up about this regular named Eddie that always comes in, I figured I’d cut out the middle man.”

Eddie freezes. 

Wife. So, that means –

“Bold of you to assume I ever shut up,” Richie says, but his voice is a little tight when he says it, and Eddie can see where the tips of his ears have gone pink. 

Eddie laughs, a relieved rush of air right from his lungs. “If that isn’t the truth.” 

“Right,” Stan says, with a soft clap of his hands before patting Eddie on the shoulder. “I’ll be by the bar.” 

As it turns out, it’s considerably easier to talk to Richie when he doesn’t have records to turn over, books to shelve, or alarms blaring every ten minutes. Time gets lost as they fall into easy conversation, both a beer in and not plagued with the inhibitions of work.

Eddie gets so wrapped up in every animated story Richie tells, every joke Richie throws and every mocking he accepts that he doesn’t even realize how much time has passed until raffle winners are being called out and the bar’s last call has been announced.

“Don’t look now,” Richie says, his hand on Eddie’s arm, leaning in close enough where Eddie can feel his breath on his cheek. It makes Eddie want to swallow his tongue, trying not to breathe too deeply. “But I think Stan’s patting himself on the back for this little matchmaking session.” 

Eddie huffs a laugh, lets himself lean into Richie’s touch lest he float away. 

“Is that what this was?”

Richie laughs, high and quick, what sounds like nerves bleeding into it. “I fuckin’ hope so.”

“Me too,” Eddie says, his own hand covering Richie’s where it’s still resting on his arm. 

Richie hums, turning to an easy laugh that Eddie can’t help but echo.

“Let me take you out,” Richie says, turning his hand over to tangle Eddie’s fingers with his own. 

Eddie smirks. “Like with a sniper?” 

“Are you–” Richie laughs, that eye-crinkling smile on full display. “No, you absolute fucking gremlin. On a _date_.”

“You’d want to date a gremlin?” Eddie says, without missing a beat. “I mean, sure if that’s what you’re into.” 

“ _You’re_ what I’m into,” says Richie, squeezing Eddie’s hand, and Eddie suddenly is out of retorts. 

“Yeah, Richie,” he says, meeting Richie’s eyes. “I’d like that.” 

“Great,” Richie beams. “Let’s go.” 

Eddie stops, shakes himself out of it. “Sorry, what?” 

“Let’s go,” Richie repeats, tugging his hand a little. 

So, they go. 

/

He’s not shocked when their taxi pulls up to Bread & Butter – not that he was paying attention to much of anything but Richie being pressed close to him in the back seat. 

Eddie’s basically on his heels as Richie unlocks the door, pressing at a keypad once they get inside and locking it behind them. Now that he’s gotten a taste of what it’s like to be close to him, he doesn’t think he can get enough. 

That feeling sticks around as they head to the kitchen hand in hand, Richie tossing Eddie an apron after flicking the fluorescent lights on. 

Richie guides him through a sugar cookie recipe, getting behind him and holding his hands even when he doesn’t need to, like he needs to be close to Eddie as much as Eddie needs to be close to him. He’s got Richie’s laugh in his ear, Richie’s arms around his shoulders, Richie’s cheek against his own.

Later, after a brief flour fight, he’s got Richie’s lips on his, flavoured with laughter and vanilla. 

The shop feels different now, but a good different. Like coming home after a long day at the office and loosening your tie. Like tucking into a well worn sweater and curling up with your favorite book. 

Looking at Richie as they dance around the kitchen, cleaning up as the cookies sit in the oven, Eddie thinks back to Stan’s note on the spreadsheet. 

_Homey,_ it had read.

Eddie didn’t know what Stan had meant, then, before he had walked through the doors a few months ago, but he knew well enough now. 

  
  
x

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! for more nonsense, you can find me on twitter at [@REECHlE](https://twitter.com/REECHlE) 💕


End file.
